by Sarina Bowen
“Thanks.” When I glance at him, his face is slightly flushed. “Maybe you shouldn’t moan while you’re eating it, though. Just as a favor to me.”
“Sorry.” I glance at him, and he actually winks. Winks! Kieran Shipley is flirting with me. What are the odds?
But of course I can’t flirt back, because that would send mixed signals. So I’m silent while we devour crispy chicken and rice.
“Hey,” he says eventually. “I’ve been watching Silicon Valley on Hulu. You want to—”
“Great show,” I say quickly. A comedy is exactly what we need to dissolve the sexual tension in here. “Turn it on.”
“Cool.” Kieran wipes his hands and reaches for his laptop on the coffee table. He flips it open and pecks at the keyboard until we’re watching Richard Hendricks stumble around trying to extract himself from another fiasco.
Maybe that’s why I like this show. Richard and I have a few things in common.
Kieran chuckles quietly on the sofa beside me, and I lean back and relax. It’s nice in this room, where the lamplight burnishes the floorboards, and there’s a hot farm boy who makes me feel appreciated.
It’s cozy. Almost domestic. If I weren’t so good at torpedoing my own life, I could almost imagine a future that looked like this.
Almost.
Kieran
“Whoops, no. The lunch special is a spinach and feta turnover,” Roderick says from several feet below me.
“Wait, really?” I’m standing on a stool, chalk in hand, trying to write the daily specials on the board. “I thought you were doing ham and cheese croissants?”
“Last-minute change,” he says. “Audrey brought in a whole lot of spinach, and I wanted to use that first.”
“Okay. Sure.” I use my fist to wipe off the word ham, but it smears. “I can’t work under these conditions. Would you mind tossing me a damp rag?”
Chuckling, Roderick grabs the bar towel and tosses it up to me. “Just pivot, like Jared. Okay?”
Despite my unsteady position on the stool, I laugh at his reference to a funny scene from Silicon Valley. “So I’m Jared, now?” I guess it fits. Jared’s an outsider always trying to fit in.
“We’re all Jared,” Roderick says. “I guess I’m Erlich Bachman—not very self-aware. Always trying to get people to like him.”
They do, though, I think to myself. Everyone likes Roddy, even me. Especially me. But I don’t say this out loud. “Anything more to add before I get down from here?”
“Um.” Roderick strokes his perfect chin, and it makes me want to jump off this stool and stroke it for him. Time hasn’t dulled my attraction for him, and I don’t know what to do about that. There doesn’t seem to be anything to do, except look around for some other guy who cranks my engine the way he does.
Except I don’t want another guy. I want this one right here.
“Okay, can you add this? ‘Now taking orders for holiday cookies and pies.’”
“Sure. Not cakes?” I start on the letters in a new shade of chalk.
“I don’t know how to decorate cakes,” Roderick says.
“That wouldn’t stop the guys on Silicon Valley.” Our TV habit is totally a thing now. On the nights when I come home early enough, we always watch a couple of episodes together.
“Which character am I?” Zara asks, emerging from the kitchen.
“You’re Monica,” I say without hesitation. “She’s sharp and doesn’t take any bullshit from anyone.”
“Is she hot?” Zara asks, sliding a tray of muffins into the case.
“Very,” Roderick assures her. “I should get the bagels into the water bath.” He ducks into the kitchen.
“Very nice,” Zara says, inspecting my work on the board.
“Thanks. It’s just a couple of additions.”
“No, I mean…” She drops her voice. “You seem happy enough with Roderick around. I’m glad that worked out.”
My neck gets instantly hot. “Yeah, it’s fine. He’s all right.”
“Good.”
Luckily, I’m saved from this conversation by two new customers walking into the cafe. The morning rush is about to kick in. I can feel it.
I make someone a skim-milk mocha, and then the door opens again and four more people enter. Zara and I handle the rush together, filling orders on autopilot. Roderick steps out of the kitchen with a new batch of bagels, and I actually sense him before I see him. All he does is slide the platter onto the counter and walk away. Even so, my eyes follow him, and my heart hitches.
This is how I am all the time now. He walks into the room, and all my attention goes straight to him. I’ve never felt like that about anyone, and I don’t know how to shut it off.
I’m not even sure I want to. Zara’s right. The more I know of Roderick, the more I like him. He’s funny, for starters. Who knew you could have a hard-on for a biting wit and a snarky tongue?
His snark is just a front, though. Nobody tries harder than Roderick. Nobody is quicker to lend a hand, or more eager to satisfy the customers.
Audrey and Zara are smitten with him, too, in their own ways. No matter that Roderick was late to work that one time. Our bosses have completely forgiven him. Last week Zara offered him an extra shift in the early morning, and this week Audrey did. They’re both a little drunk on the idea that there’s someone else available to work the brutal five thirty prep shift.
The result is that Roderick is tired. He has circles under his eyes. They’re not as deep as those early days when he was sleeping in the car. But he never says no when they ask him a favor, and he likes the extra hours in his paycheck.
The fact that he goes to bed so early all the time is making a serious dent in our hang-out time in front of Hulu. And forget about learning to cook. I haven’t gotten another lesson yet.
Then again, I haven’t asked. So when Zara takes her break, and Roderick and I are working together, I bring it up. “Look, I know you’re burning the candle at both ends, but let’s not neglect my education. You promised.”
“Your, uh, education?”
He turns to me with a surprisingly heated gaze, and it catches me off-guard. Roderick is thinking about sex right now. Sex with me. Hallelujah. There’s hope for me yet.
“Look,” I say. “I’m down for anything. But you should know that I meant cooking lessons.” And I can’t help smiling, even if my face is turning red.
“Oh!” He throws his head back and laughs. “Of course. I’m sorry. You should have spoken up sooner. I’ve just been—”
“Super busy working extra shifts. I know.”
“Yeah, but I made a promise. Tomorrow night? Unless you’ve got chores?”
“I’ll get out of it,” I promise. Now that the cold weather is upon us, I don’t have to work as hard. My dad’s back is still a mess, but there isn’t as much farm work. “What do we need from the grocery store?”
He rubs his hands together. “I’m not sure yet. It will be a game-time decision. Let me handle the shopping.”
“Sure.” I pull twenty bucks out of my wallet and hand it to him. “For my half. I’ll be home by six.”
“Great.” He puts the money away. “See you then.”
Roderick
I spend parts of the following morning daydreaming about cooking with Kieran.
Unfortunately, daydreaming is bad for business. Happy thoughts about a certain hot farmer distract me as I’m tallying up a catering order. And I end up undercharging the buyer.
So I do the only reasonable thing and put fifteen bucks of my own money in the till.
Ouch. That’s what I get for letting my mind wander to a man that I’ve already sworn off of once. You’d think I’d learn.
We’re going to be cooking tonight, damn it. Just cooking.
When the work day finally ends, I head to the grocery store. I buy all the ingredients to make a roast pork loin with ginger and lime, plus a mushroom risotto and green beans on the side.
I don’t buy the bo
ttle of wine I was planning to pick up, because I spent that fifteen bucks already. Otherwise, my dinner plans are still on track. But after I load everything into the back of the Bug, things go wrong again. My engine starts up fine, but then abruptly cuts out when I shift into reverse. It just dies.
I should mention that I’m completely useless when it comes to cars. All I know how to do is put the key in and drive. Or call AAA. Which I do.
“Are you a member?” is the first question they ask.
“No, but maybe I should be.”
“I’ll need a credit card number.”
Yeah, I really should have seen that coming. “I don’t have a credit card, but I have a debit card. Or I can pay cash.” There’s a bank machine in view inside of the store. It’s the kind that charges an extra fee, but that’s the kind of day I’m having so I shouldn’t really be surprised.
“I can’t send out a tow truck without a credit card number.”
Of course you can’t. I hang up, because it’s either that or say something rude. I end the call and find the number for a local garage. But it’s now after five thirty, and they’re closed.
I’m ten miles from home, the temperature is dropping, and my pork loin and risotto need at least an hour’s worth of attention. What to do?
Out of ideas, I call Kieran to ask if he knows a mechanic.
“Sure,” he says, his rumbly voice soft in my ear. “What’s the problem?”
“I dunno,” I mumble. “Maybe I need a jump or something. What’s his number? Still hoping to cook this dinner.”
“Where are you?”
“In Montpelier, unfortunately.”
“Where in Montpelier?”
“Outside the Shaw’s.”
“Leaving now. It’ll take me twenty minutes to get there.”
“You don’t have to…”
Click.
Hmm.
I go back inside the store and make a small ATM withdrawal. Then I buy the bottle of wine I skipped the first time, as a thank you for Kieran.
He rolls up in his truck and stops beside my car. He hops out and smiles at me. “Want a jump? I have cables.”
“Sure. I hope that’s it, though.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Kieran frowns after I explain the sequence of events. “It just cut out? How long was the engine running before you shifted into reverse?”
“Uh, sixty seconds? Maybe longer. I was checking my phone for emails.”
“Doesn’t sound like the battery,” he says. “Sounds like a belt.”
“Oh.” I think about that for a minute. “A belt is just a piece of rubber, right? I hope it’s cheaper than a dead battery.”
He winces. “Depends. Let’s try a jump just in case.”
I’m not exactly stunned when it doesn’t work.
Kieran ends up calling his friend Jude, who sends a tow truck. By the time we’re rolling toward Colebury in Kieran’s truck, it’s after seven.
“Dinner is going to be late,” I grumble. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it’s no big thing,” he says, switching on the radio.
“Except I’m starving. Aren’t you?” I hate my life right now.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Will the ingredients keep until tomorrow? We could just grab a pizza instead.”
“I guess?” They’ll totally keep, but I just spent all my cash. “I’d need to hit the bank again.”
“I got money,” Kieran says. “Here.” He unlocks his phone and hands it over. “The place is listed in my contacts under Pizza. Because I’m subtle like that. Order a large. Half with sausage and olives, half with whatever you like.”
I hesitate a second.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like pizza?” Kieran says.
“I do,” I say quickly. “I just don’t want to be like your brother—always taking advantage of you.”
“It’s a pizza. Jesus. And it was my idea. Order, okay?”
So I do. I get the whole thing with the toppings he suggested, in case there are leftovers. After I hang up, he turns up the dashboard radio. And wouldn’t you know? Kieran listens to country music. The sounds of Nashville hum through the truck, and for the first few minutes it doesn’t bother me that much. We hear a Darius Rucker tune, and then a crossover song by Delilah Spark. Inevitably, a Brian Aimsley song comes on. It’s his new one, “So Happy I’m Yours.”
I grit my teeth through the first verse, and I’m suddenly aware of an uncomfortable truth—I’ve never wondered if a Brian Aimsley love song was secretly about me. Songwriters collaborate like crazy, and Brian rarely wrote a song by himself.
But as I listen to him singing about the way his heart lifts when he sees that special someone’s smile, it occurs to me to realize I should have expected for more. I mean—I would never demand he sing about me in an obvious way. But why shouldn’t he have wanted to?
He never did, though, and I never asked why. And although I’d sometimes demanded more of Brian’s time, I’d never demanded more of his heart.
I’d sold myself short from the start. Brian was a first-class dick, yeah, but putting up with it was on me.
“Can we shut this off?” I blurt out.
“Sure.” Kieran smacks the power button and the radio falls silent. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s your truck.”
“Not a fan of country?”
“Hate it,” I confess. “Spent too many years in Nashville.” That’s for damn sure.
He gives me an appraising glance before pulling into the pizza joint parking place. “Be right back.”
The truck smells like pizza on the way home.
And that’s when I realize that I never transferred the groceries from my car to Kieran’s truck. I let out a groan of pure unhappiness at the thought of my pork loin being towed to a garage right now.
“What’s the matter?”
Embarrassed, I explain the problem to Kieran. It’s not like he won’t notice when I have no ingredients to unload into our fridge. Today is like a bad dream I can’t wake up from. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m sorry about dinner.”
“It’s only thirty degrees out right now. Your groceries will be fine sitting in the car all night. We can get them tomorrow.”
The idea of Kieran having to drive out to get them makes me want to howl. I’m so tired of being a hot mess. But I don’t know how to stop being one. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what? Cars break.” He makes the turn onto the town green. We’re almost home.
“For being your crazy, unreliable roommate. Again.”
“You had a shit day Roddy, they happen. They happen a lot, honestly. We’re going to eat pizza and drink a beer. Wait. Do you not like beer?” By the sound of his voice I can tell the question alarms him a little.
“I like it fine. But broke guys don’t drink beer.” I am a broke guy again. Thinking about my car repair bill makes me want to howl, too.
“Look,” he asks as the house comes into view. “Are roommates supposed to tally everything to the penny? Am I doing it all wrong? I’m new with this.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong. Not one thing.” I swallow hard. “I’m the dysfunctional one in this vehicle. The roommate rules clearly state that you don’t jump your hot, drunk roommate, and then act like a drama queen afterwards. You probably think I’m insane.”
“Nah.” He makes a dismissive sound. “You told me your issues. I get it.” He pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine and the lights.
“Why do you have to be so fucking decent?” I ask into the sudden silence. “It makes the rest of us look bad.”
Kieran sits still in the darkness, as if this was a serious question. “I’m just like you, though. Just trying to figure my shit out. You’ve already helped me with that, by the way.”
“Because I made your dick stand up and cheer?”
He snorts loudly. “The things you say. You’re fearless.”
“Yeah, but not wise.” I
unclip my seatbelt and reach for the door handle.
“Maybe just ease up on yourself for one night?” Kieran says, pocketing his keys. “We’re going to watch a little TV and have some pizza and a beer. Or not the beer. Whatever. I offer it to you with no expectations. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. You just seem like a guy who could use a piece of pizza and a hug.”
“Ha. You of all people are not a hugger.”
He shrugs those big shoulders. “That’s just it, though. You make me feel like I could be someone who does things instead of just thinking about them. You probably don’t understand, but I get a lot out of having you around.”
Oh, man. Now he’s done it. I’m full of warm fuzzies. “I’ll take that hug now,” I say before I can think better of it.
He turns slowly in my direction. “You sure about that?” It sounds like a challenge.
“Yup.” I hitch myself closer to him on the seat, and open my arms wide. Kieran’s response is to grasp the halves of my jacket and haul me closer.
And I like it so much that I skip the hug entirely, and dive straight into a steamy kiss. I lay it right on him.
Kieran lets out a grunt of surprise, but slides right into the kiss like a champ. Thick arms wrap around me and soft, hungry lips slide over mine. He kisses me like he’s been thinking about it for weeks. And I kiss him back like I’m starved for it.
It’s all very magical until my elbow beeps the truck’s horn, and we startle apart.
“Inside,” Kieran growls. “You know you want to.”
I open my mouth to argue, but then I realize resistance is futile. “Yessir,” I say instead.
Pizza forgotten, we slam the truck’s doors and hustle into the house. Once the door clicks shut, Kieran lets me push him up against it. And then we’re making out like teenagers again—fast and messy. Every lingering glance we’ve shared, every frustrated night sleeping in separate rooms. Is there any real surprise that we’d end up here—trying to fuse our mouths together in the darkened hallway?
